Counted Thought
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: This is a brief addendum to "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas." Yes, I know it's March. I'm just a late poster.


TITLE: "COUNTED THOUGHT"  
  
BY: Kiki Cabou  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.  
  
Spoilers: "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas."  
  
Summary: This is a short addendum for "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas."  
  
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance (slight)  
  
Category: Vignette, Humor, Romance  
  
Rating: G  
  
Note: I wrote this story back in December but didn't have the time to post it until now. So, now you can have Christmas in March! Enjoy.  
  
"COUNTED THOUGHT"  
  
MULDER'S APARTMENT  
  
2630 HEGAL PLACE #42  
  
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA  
  
RIGHT AFTER GETTING HOME FROM SOMEWHERE IN MARYLAND  
  
Fox Mulder was alone, slumped on his couch, watching Scrooge laugh like an idiot on television. It was 1:30 in the morning and very dark outside. Bleak, even. The lanky G-man's decidedly sad expression juxtaposed violently with the maniacal guffawing of the actor in "A Christmas Carol." He sighed.  
  
Suddenly, there was a knock. At first he wasn't sure he'd heard properly, but there it was again. He got up, switched his television off and threaded his way through his apartment to the door. He opened it, surprised, and yet not, to see his partner standing there, her heart-shaped face turned up in a tired, tiny grin, fiery red hair hanging limp. Dana Scully was clearly a mess, and trying not to show it.  
  
"I uh --- I couldn't sleep," she fumbled. "And so---" She sighed and started over. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Yeah," he said immediately, stretching one long arm over her shoulders and leading her inside.  
  
She breezed past him gently and turned around.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be opening Christmas gifts with your family?" he asked, shutting the door.  
  
There was a pause. Scully was clearly not on the same page as he was.  
  
"Mulder, none of that really happened out there tonight --- that was all in our heads, right?"  
  
"Ye-ye--- Musta been," he stuttered, and approached her. There was another pause.  
  
"Not that, uh, my only joy in life is proving you wrong," Scully said with a smile.  
  
He leaned in slightly and asked quietly, "When have you proven me wrong?"  
  
It was a stab. Well, maybe it was more of a gentle poke, but Scully was tired and felt obliged to defend herself.  
  
"Well, why else would you want me out there with you?" she asked.  
  
"You didn't want to be there?"  
  
Scully gave him a sharp look with a half-sneer that was part disgust, part reproach, and part "You are the most insensitive man on the planet."  
  
Mulder saw the look.  
  
"Oh, that's um ... self-righteous and ... narcissistic of me to say, isn't it?" he mused, his lips barely moving.  
  
"No," Scully said, recovering. "I mean, maybe I did want to be out there with you."  
  
He smiled slightly and walked around her to get to his television set. She, meanwhile, gazed off with a look that suggested she had no idea why she wanted to be out there with him and that she was too tired to figure it out.  
  
Mulder snapped her out of her reverie by crinkling some paper. She turned around.  
  
"Well, uh, I know we said that we weren't going to exchange gifts," he said, gently holding a thick cylindrical package, wrapped gaily in rose and champagne wrapping paper. "But uh..." A grin formed on his face and wouldn't go away. "I gotcha ... a little somethin'."  
  
He twirled the prize in his large, bony hands as he spoke.  
  
"Mulder," Scully replied, half pleased, half embarrassed, and utterly irresistible. She was blushing. Mulder loved it when she blushed.  
  
Pleased with himself, he handed the package to her. "Merry Christmas."  
  
In response, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a festive rectangular package, wrapped in green paper and golden ribbons.  
  
"Well, I gotcha a little something too," Scully said, imitating his tone of voice and smiling, and wiggled the package at him.  
  
One thing she had learned from being around her partner for six, going on seven years was to never be caught unprepared. He chuckled softly in approval and thanks and took the present from her, shaking it for good measure. She grinned at him.  
  
They both looked at each other mischievously, rushed to the couch, and started ripping the paper off as it started to snow lightly outside.  
  
@***@***@***@  
  
Half a minute later, they were both staring at their gifts, utterly confused.  
  
"Uh, Mulder?" Scully said, vying for some sort of dignity. Her mother had been saying for years that she was too thin, so maybe somehow this idea had rubbed off on her partner ... maybe.  
  
"Ssscully?" Mulder asked, equally baffled. There must have been some mistake. He usually kept himself neatly trimmed, anyway. Was Scully giving him a hint? Whatever kind of hint this was, it was ... weird.  
  
"Mulder, an enormous round of pastrami?  
  
"Uh, Scully, a deluxe nail care kit?"  
  
Suddenly, it hit both of them what they'd done. And they started to laugh. Hysterically.  
  
"Oh-h, no! Ha ha! Oh, God no!" Scully got out, between giggles and snorts that were making tears run down her face. She was too damn tired from running after her idiot partner through a haunted house for an hour to cry over mis-wrapping a Christmas present. She much preferred to laugh. And Mulder howled along with her.  
  
Finally, the giggles died away into snickers, which faded into snorts, and then silence. Mulder was the first to speak.  
  
"Wow. Well, my friend Ralph in Alabama is going to be really confused when he opens up that lemon-scented Aromatherapy candle."  
  
This sent Scully into burst of wheezing laughter that came out more as "heeeeeehhh" than anything else. Mulder's friend Ralph was a big fat slob who owned a pig farm. The two men had traded letters since a case involving one of Ralph's runaway pigs, a train, and an alleged alien abduction. Scully guessed that her partner had decided to finally send the guy a Christmas present. The thought of Ralph actually opening the package, and the look on his face, sent her into another giggle fit, but she managed to speak as well.  
  
"Yeah, well Tara is going to be shocked when she opens up 'Eyewitness Accounts.' Oh, no."  
  
"What's 'Eyewitness Accounts?'" Mulder asked.  
  
"It's this book, about as big as the package you're holding, naturally ..."  
  
"Naturally."  
  
"...Full of hand-drawn illustrations by people who've seen Bigfoot, the Yeti, aliens, etc. Some of them are actually quite good. But they're all perfectly disgusting. It's all laid out by time periods --- they've got examples of Gothic architecture, vampire drawings, all the stuff you're interested in. I just thought it would be a nice addition to your library."  
  
"Wow. Thanks, Scully. That sounds really neat. If I were opening that right now, I'd be jumping up and down in wild ecstasy."  
  
He finished deadpan and gazed at her serenely as she gave him The Look.  
  
"No, seriously. I would. Want a demonstration?"  
  
She smacked him gently. He ignored her.  
  
"Too bad your sister-in-law's going to be opening it at six. ... And then screaming."  
  
She snorted. "Yeah. And too bad Ralph the Fat Ass is getting my Aromatherapy candle. That sounds nice!"  
  
"Don't call him that!" Mulder replied, laughing.  
  
"S'not my fault!" Scully exclaimed, collapsing against him. "I'm tired."  
  
"I know," he said, tossing the nail polish kit on the coffee table and wrapping his arm around her. "You wanna stick around? Take a nap for a little while? Have some tea?"  
  
"Mmmm," she moaned. "Can't. Gotta go home. Still got more wrapping to mess up."  
  
He leaned over, his lips in her hair. "You want me to drive you? I think you'd be a road hazard, the way you're acting."  
  
She sighed, her head and face half buried in his warm chest, and mumbled, "Yeah. That would be nice. ... What the hell am I saying? Of course it would be nice. I can't even remember how I got here."  
  
He snorted, then moved his face away, removed his arm, stood, and helped her up.  
  
"Scully," he said, his face completely sincere, "I'm very sorry I gave you a pastrami. It won't happen again."  
  
She moved toward him, and he toward her, and they embraced. "Well, I'm sorry about the nail polish kit," she said, muffled against his shirt. "I know you and your psychoanalysis thing. I didn't mean to imply anything. Your hygiene is excellent."  
  
Smiling, they broke the embrace. He picked up the nail polish kit. She put the pastrami in her pocket. He took her hand, and led her out the door, grabbing his coat and gloves on the way out.  
  
@***@***@***@  
  
By the time the car stopped in front of the Scully house, Scully was fast asleep in the passengers' seat, and snow was falling quite heavily outside. Mulder looked up the front walkway. It was a grand, inviting old house, painted white, with a lovely wooden porch. Since Dana's father's death a few years ago, her mother had put a lot of effort into fixing it up, and it had paid off. 1815 Marbury Lane was now one of the most magnificent houses on the block. Most of the outline had been decorated with tiny white lights, making the house light up like an architectural blueprint against the night sky. From the car, he could just make out a snow angel wreath adorning the door. Then he took another look at his sleeping partner.  
  
God, but she was beautiful. He didn't even bother with mental descriptions or obsessing over specific aspects. She was simply ... gorgeous. Atypical. Intelligent. Funny. A doctor. Voluntarily carrying a plastic- wrapped heart attack and not complaining. What more could a man ask for?  
  
He bit his full bottom lip, then let it go. Should he, or shouldn't he? Would she wake up, be offended at his manly-man tactic, and kill him in the middle? She looked pretty tired. He decided to risk it. It was 2:20 a.m.  
  
He reached into the back seat and found her scarf and gloves. Very carefully, as she slept, he gloved both of her hands and wound the scarf gently around her face, covering her mouth and nose lightly. Then he put on his own gloves and scarf, buttoned his long overcoat, and stepped gingerly from the car.  
  
Closing and locking his door with her keys, he came around to the other side and opened her door. He got her seat belt off, separated her door key from the rest on her key ring, and held it with his teeth. With both hands now free, he reached in, picked her up like a baby, lifted her out of the car, and closed the door behind him with his foot.  
  
Scully was surprisingly light. Thankfully, she was also dead to the world. His shoes crunched in the newly fallen snow as he made his way up the walk to the front door. Stepping up on the porch, he wiped his feet off on the welcome mat, and was just about to figure out how to get the key into the lock, when it clicked and the door opened.  
  
Margaret, "Maggie," Scully, the matriarch of the Scully household, was standing there in her bathrobe and slippers, with a big grin on her face. She reached up and took Scully's keys out of Mulder's mouth.  
  
"Special delivery," he said, regarding his redheaded burden with affection.  
  
She smiled, and motioned him in out of the cold. Closing the door behind them all, she walked up the stairs, Mulder in tow. Up they went, until they reached a guest room. Mulder put Scully down on the bed and turned to her mother. They conversed in hushed tones.  
  
"Thank you, Fox," she said.  
  
"Oh, I was just trying to make it up to her," he mumbled. "She and I got stuck in a haunted house, and she was totally exhausted from wrapping stuff, and I got her a pastrami for Christmas by accident."  
  
Maggie stiffled a giggle.  
  
"She's got it in her pocket," he continued, and sighed. "Every time I try to do something for her, it comes out wrong. Like this."  
  
"I think she knew what you meant, honey," Maggie said. "She always does. Besides. It's the thought that counts."  
  
Mulder smiled, then remembered something. "Oh, she mis-wrapped my present, too. This is supposed to be for Tara." He pulled the nail kit out of his pocket and handed it to Maggie.  
  
"Oh, dear. Well, I'll re-wrap it and replace whatever's under the tree. How's that?"  
  
"Sounds good. I don't want to offend any more members of the Scully clan than I have to."  
  
Maggie reached up with a smile and patted his face. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home."  
  
He waved her off. "No sweat. Well, I'll be on my way."  
  
"Over my dead body," Maggie responded with mock indignation. "Fox William Mulder, it's half past two in the morning, and snowing, and you are spending Christmas with us. Now, let's go find you a guest room, and I'll come back and tuck Dana in."  
  
Mulder let a grin escape him as the small, redoubtable woman led him off down the hall and shooed him into another guest room. He quickly stripped down to his t-shirt, boxers and socks, and let Maggie turn off the light and slip out, leaving him in darkness.  
  
Three minutes later, he was snuggled deeply under the thick covers of the bed, snoring quietly, at peace with the world on Christmas for the first time in a long time.  
  
Back in the first room however, Scully was grinning in her "sleep." Despite the pastrami, which she would be giggling over for years, it was true. It was the thought that counted. And her partner had always been big on thought. It was one of the many things she loved about him. Mulder would never be alone on Christmas again, if she could help it.  
  
She quickly smoothed out her features as her mother stepped back into the room to bed her down for a nap. Family roll call, after all, was at six a.m. Even though Tara wasn't going to scream at her gift, which disappointed her somewhat, she was thrilled. With the exception of her brother Bill, she'd finally have all the people she loved under one roof at the same time. Finally, she'd be together with Mulder during the holidays, when she knew he needed her the most. And in a few hours, everyone would have a glorious half-hour of ripping paper and screeching in delight, drinking warm milk, and eating her mother's famous pancakes.  
  
What a wonderful Christmas this would be.  
  
The End  
  
@***@***@***@  
  
This is my first story! Like it? Hate it? Are you doing the classically New York hand-wiggling "ehhh" thing? Let me know!  
  
Please review, or if you're feeling really gung-ho, send something to kcabou@hotmail.com. Feel free to flood my inbox! I respond to all letters --- ask anybody.  
  
Constructive criticism is appreciated. All flames, however, will be duly received and then posted at www.bite-me.com.  
  
I am an X-Phile for Mulder, a Cynophiliac ("Dog" lover), a fan of the Surly Burly One, (Skinner) and a staunch supporter and admirer of the absolutely fabulous G-Woman.  
  
@--- Real women wear black. Hooray for the FBI. ---@ 


End file.
